


Safe

by anythingbutblue



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutblue/pseuds/anythingbutblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://bsg_remix.livejournal.com">BSG Remix 2013</a>.</p><p>Your closest friends learn to read you.  Sam and Jean are no exception to the rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe

I. Kara

"Right. You're telling me you've never once frakked Barolay."

The grin Sam offered in response would've been right at home on the front page of any newspaper. "That's exactly what I'm telling you." He lifted his glass in a casual toast. "Good ears, baby."

The thing about Samuel T. Anders was that his grin was contagious; Kara couldn't resist leaning forward and matching him tooth for tooth. "I don't buy it."

"Why not?"

"C' _mon_ , Sam," she complained into her glass, her eyes rolling. "You, single resistance leader and former team captain. Her, your teammate of three years. A small group of survivors on a nuked planet occupied by Cylons. Your lives on the line every day. Emotions running high." She arched her eyebrows for his benefit, and as she lowered her ambrosia her arm purposefully nudged his. "And I know how much you like your one-on-one."

His head tipped to one side while he watched her, eventually nodding in mock thoughtfulness. "Those would've been good reasons."

"Now you're just frakking with me."

After a generous gulp of his drink, he laughed and shook his his head. "What are you, a one-woman tabloid?" His free hand darted out, closing around her wrist, and when he tugged her toward him a noise caught in her throat, laughter mingled with want. "You know, Kara, if something had happened between Jean and me I wouldn't have a problem admitting it." He shrugged, an easy rise and fall of his shoulders, but never let go. Eyes on her, he smiled crookedly for a second, like he just knew he was about to say something that would amuse the frak out of her. "See, I used to have this rule."

Naturally, she was all ears. "What rule?"

"Never frak a teammate."

With one leg on either side of his, she tilted her head back to let out an ambrosia-amplified bark of laughter. "Are you serious?"

He looked for a second as though he was going to spread both hands in a blameless gesture, but he seemed to think better of it and instead directed them to her hips. "It's true. I lived and breathed that game. You ever see that that post-game interview I gave to Evangeline Lyles? It was short, but I swear to gods I was seeing clips of it for two months straight." Coaxing her hips down, he grinned at her again. "I was almost sick of it."

The breath that pushed past her lips rippled with amusement. "Almost." Just like she was _almost_ on his lap. "Sad story, pyramid boy."

"The point is," he went on, crooking a wry grin, "every night I walked into Atlas I wanted to play the best frakking game I could, to make that perfect frakking shot, to be the perfect assist, to never let a ball or a player get past me. I never would've said no to the Kobol Cup, but it was all about the game, Kara." Those blue eyes of his were earnest; he looked at her as though he was sure she could understand. "I learned my lesson in college. Frak a teammate and suddenly they're a distraction. Frak an opponent and it's worse."

She had to lean in again, her nose almost bumping his, and her smile was so broad it almost made her cheeks ache. "So next time we play _that's_ gonna be your excuse."

"You'll have to try me and find out." His grip tightened. The space between them narrowed even more. "But don't worry: I _will_ picture you naked."

She was counting on it, but the open acknowledgment still sent electricity straight down her spine. "Then I better refresh your memory."

 

II. Jean

Jean dreamed she went home.

It wasn't her home on Caprica, not the apartment across the Caprica City harbor; it was the brick house she grew up in on Libran. A huge hole marred one wall, allowing a glimpse into the kitchen. Half the roof had crumbled in. She thought she could hear voices inside -- her mother singing to herself, Phoebe and Charlotte arguing like it was a team sport in the Colonial Games, Tristan's radio -- but when she entered there was no one to be found. 

She woke to Delphi Union's midnight hush, a brand of quiet she still wasn't used to after two weeks of making it their home, and tugged a sweatshirt on over her makeshift pajamas before she went outside to see who was on watch. It wasn't a surprise to see Sam. Officially he was only on watch four nights a week, but she knew most nights he could still be found joining in for the first few hours of the first shift.

He was sitting by the fire, a gun resting across his thighs. Hillard sat in a chair on the opposite side of the fire and Wheeler stood nearby, both of them armed.

"Hey, guys."

All three greeted her, and when Sam looked back over his shoulder at her he offered a smile. It almost made her feel better. "Hey, Jean. Couldn't sleep?"

"What tipped you off?" she teased, smiling back in spite of her mood. "You get many people joining the watch when it's not their turn?"

Sam nodded to an empty chair a few feet away. "No one smart."

Pulling her chair closer to the crackling fire, she met his eyes and chuckled. "Glad I'm in good company."

He shrugged, face painted with light from the flames, his palms up in the ultimate gesture of innocence. 

Even Hillard couldn't hold back a grin. "He can't stand being on the sidelines. Got used to calling the shots."

Jean laughed again as Sam conceded that point, but she figured everyone present knew that it wasn't so simple. Sam would've happily led the C-Bucs through any season, regardless of its outcome, but no matter how tough the competition their opponents never had metal hides and any murder on the field was metaphorical.

Sam was as far out of his depth as any of them, and it was so easy to slip into assist mode that she almost didn't realize it until she had to talk him down herself.

She raised her eyebrows at him, asking silently if he was all right, and he nodded in response, just once.

He was as okay as any of them were.

 

III. Sam

They could never have too many medical supplies, especially since they no longer had a trained doctor at their disposal. A month after meeting Kara and Helo he still wondered why the frak a Cylon would have gotten a job in sports medicine, why Doc chose to stay with them instead of running off with his own kind, why they weren't ambushed all the godsdamn time since they had a traitor tagging along. They were questions he'd never have answers to unless he got his hands on another copy, and that thought wasn't appealing. They'd never know just how much Simon was helping them or hurting them while he was around.

He's not sure he'd have believed it if he hadn't seen the other Simon for himself.

"Back is clear," Ten-Point reported, leading Lucy in from the back entrance. "This floor's deserted."

Gun held up in front of him, Hillard waved one hand to indicate that the rest of them should enter the stairwell. "I'll stay."

There was no sign outside; a wall-mounted directory inside was the only indication that there'd been a practice on the top two floors of the building. None of them had even known to look for it, and while he knew how bad the odds were he had to hold on to the hope that one day he'd be able to thank Kara for tipping them off to it. The chances of finding anti-rads in a small clinic were low, but they always needed basic medical supplies.

Th  
eir footsteps echoed in the stairwell as they climbed to the next floor. He led with the barrel of his gun and eased out into the second-floor hallway, looking left and then right before motioning for the others to follow.

They split into pairs -- him and Jean, Ten-Point and Lucy -- to scout the floor for surprises before entering the clinic. Precaution was a difficult lesson, and they'd learned it the hard way.

The clinic door had a small window that shattered easily with two quick shots, and Jean was able to reach in to unbolt the lock.

"Let's get this party started," Ten-Point announced as he held the door open, gun at his side.

Walking through the waiting room and past the front office, he counted four exam rooms and two supply closets; this part of the office alone would be a decent haul. He pulled the backpack off his shoulders as he went for the far closet, noticing out of the corner of his eye as Jean followed suit.

They spent a few minutes going through bandages and trial-size packets of medications in silence before she cleared her throat. "You know, T, there was a time when I considered you hard to read."

Surprised, he turned toward her. "Really?" He'd always thought his heart was right out there for everyone to notice.

Jean nodded. "It didn't last long."

An unbidden laugh escaped him. "Sounds about right."

"You've been thinking about Kara."

It was just like he'd thought, his heart on his sleeve.

 

IV. Jean

It seemed like she'd just gotten comfortable with her head against Sam's shoulder when he shifted again, but she didn't complain. As long as he stayed in one place, warming her from one side while the fire warmed her on the other, she'd keep her mouth shut.

"I never apologized to you."

She let her chin sink deeper into the collar of her jacket. "What the frak for?"

"That time I kissed you."

Casting a look of disbelief up at his face, she burrowed even further. "You realize that was months and months ago, right?"

"Better late than never," he suggested, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

Her laugh sounded like a muffled hiccup, but she was pretty sure he could see the amusement in her eyes when he looked down at her.

"Yeah, yeah. You read me like a book." The arm around her tightened, and his fingers tugged at the hair that escaped her ponytail. "I _was_ out of line."

That made her snort. "I'd have told you if you were out of line. And I'd have wanted an apology before _now_ if you were out of line. You know we're good, T."

"Usually I prefer showing to telling." Hesitating, he leaned sideways until the side of his head touched the top of hers. The weight and warmth were welcome. "But sometimes you've gotta hear the words."

"Yeah. Especially now."

She could hear the laughter in his voice. "It was a good kiss, though."

"Definitely in my top five make-outs."

Between his head and his shoulder she could feel every vibration of his laugh. "Top five. That's not bad."

Turning her face in toward his shoulder, she smiled. "Could've just been the adrenaline talking."

 

V. Sam

It took a series of jumps to get back to Galactica from Caprica and he couldn't be sure how far they actually traveled, but he couldn't feel farther away from Delphi Union and the sunny Caprica haze, his old high-rise condo and the bright lights of Atlas. They were shown to quarters, most of them temporarily kept on Galactica, and Kara told him to settle in, promising she'd be back after a quick debriefing.

He sat on the edge of the bed he'd claimed as his own, scrubbing one hand over his eyes, and by all rights he knew he should've felt lighter. He no longer had to be the leader, no longer had to make an attempt to bottle anything up, no longer had to hold himself responsible for anyone. They were with the fleet now; all he had to do from this point was keep living.

But he still felt like smashing his fist against something.

Weight shifted the mattress as someone sat beside him, and he felt a slender arm curve around him, a hand against his back.

"We made it, T."

Lowering his hand, he looked sideways at Jean. "And we brought another frakking Cylon with us. Gods, I never saw it coming. I should've known."

The skeptical arch of her eyebrows said enough.

"Come on, Jean, looking back at Brother Cavil..." He shook his head. "The guy was suspicious as frak."

"Sam, you can't review Cavil's game tapes after the fact and feel bad about what you missed. None of us had any idea."

"We could've saved--"

Abruptly she gave him a shove. It didn't hurt and it wasn't enough to budge him, but it caught his attention. "You don't know what we could or couldn't have done. We made it off that planet, and Cavil's in the brig, and our chances of survival are suddenly much better. If you beat yourself up over things we all missed, _I_ will beat you up."

Laughter was a gut reaction, and it felt good despite Cavil and casualties and lies. " _Now_ I'm scared."

"You should be." She nudged him, and her own laugh sounded a little like relief. "Cylons have nothing on redheads."

"Words to live by." He bent his arm behind her and pulled her in to drop a grateful kiss against the top of her head.

 

VI. Jean

"Jean?"

She felt like her name was being called through a fog.

"Is Barolay in her tent?"

Opening one eye, she listened.

"Jean," Ten-Point called, "do I have to frakking crawl under the flap? If you're naked I'm gonna take pictures."

Beside her, Hillard groaned. "This is why I'm glad I'm not sharing a tent with him."

The realization dawned on her slowly: Hillard groaning beside her, warm and half-draped across her. It's not like they all adopted the same rule Sam always had about keeping his hands off his teammates, but before the free-flowing ambrosia and celebratory dancing she hadn't _intended_ to sleep with Hillard. He was family. He was one of her best friends. He was one of the people she felt most comfortable with. "Ah, frak." She rested one folded arm over her eyes.

"I hear you in there," Ten-Point continued, the thin walls of the tent doing little to muffle him. "Shake off that hangover. Sam's got big news."

"I'll be out in five!" she finally yelled, her voice frayed.

"Last time we saw Sam he looked like he'd be out for days."

"I'm surprised he's up already." She didn't pull herself apart from Hillard, but she did sit up, doing her best to work out the crick in her neck. "We've got to see what's going on."

His hand met the back of her neck, fingers kneading with a gentleness she wouldn't have guessed he could pull off. "We don't have to make this weird. I can, uh, leave after you or something."

Turning toward him, she grinned and pressed her lips against his cheek. "You know, Hill, if there's something I'm _not_ embarrassed about it's drinking a lot and having great sex."

He grinned, and she tried to tell herself he looked less enthusiastic about it than she thought he really did. "I'll still leave after you. They'd ask."

She couldn't deny that every C-Buc they ran into would. It was possible the gossip had already started -- she had no idea who saw them leaving the dance floor together the night before -- but it couldn't have gotten too far if Ten-Point didn't seem to know. He'd never pass up a chance to give them both a hard time. "Your call," she insisted.

Hillard stuck with it, taking his time as they separated their clothes and dressed, but his eyes lingered on her bare skin as long as they could.

What surprised her even more was how much she liked it.

 

VII. Sam

"Kara." His voice came out thick with sleep, rough with congestion. To his ears, he sounded like a dead man; he made an attempt to clear his throat, but ended up doubling over with a cough.

Two figures who'd been standing at the entrance to the tent came rushing over.

"Hold on. I'll get you some water."

Jean. It was Jean and Hillard, and it was so good to see them both. He felt like he'd been out for days. "Where's Kara?"

Jean held a cup that Hillard filled with water from a pitcher, then she sat down beside the bed and raised it to his lips. "Drink first."

Sitting up, he tried again to clear his throat. "I've got it," he told her firmly, wrapping his fingers around the cup. When her hand didn't move right away, he gave her a sharp look that made her lips purse.

But her hand did fall away. He lifted the cup to his lips and let the water trickle down his throat and she rested her hand first against his forehead and then the side of his face. "You're still burning up."

"You gonna answer my question?" He knew it couldn't be good. He remembered hearing the rumble of ships in the air, closer than usual. He remembered a Two entering the tent, looking for Kara. He even remembered getting up and following the Two out, launching himself at that frakking skinjob. Even he could admit he was in poor condition to put up a fight, but when a Cylon waltzes into your tent and says he's looking for your wife you don't ask if he'd like a cup of Tauron ginger tea while he waits.

"We don't know where she is, T. The last time anyone saw her she was in a crowd, watching the Centurions march in."

Hillard broke in. "Chief and Cally were two of the last people to see her, but all they know is that she was on her way back here."

"There was a Two."

"A Two?" Jean asked, surprised.

"He came in and said he was looking for her." He didn't miss the glance his friends exchanged. "How" -- he stopped, swallowing down a cough -- "how does nobody know what happened to her?"

Hillard shrugged helplessly, face apologetic. "We don't know, Sam. We've been asking around."

Jean exhaled audibly. "Colonial One's off-limits, but we see a lot of skinjobs going in and out. They've started using the apartment complex too. I haven't seen many Twos. Mostly Sixes, Eights, Cavils. Somebody has to know something."

The tent felt oppressive, the air too thick, his space too limited. "I have to find her."

Jean's hand shot out, bracing against his shoulder. "You have to rest."

"How much can I rest as long as my frakking wife's missing?"

Bending, Jean looked him right in the eyes. "And if you _don't_ get better, you won't be _any_ help to her."

Pushing the cup into her hand, he let himself fall back against his pillow. "Frak."

Taking a temporary perch on the edge of the bed, Jean rubbed her hand over his shoulder. "We're gonna get you some dinner, okay? Take it easy, and we'll be back as soon as possible."

He nodded, barely, but it was enough. Jean poured more water into his cup and left it within easy reach, but once he was sure she and Hillard wouldn't be within eyesight of the tent he pushed himself up and out of the bed and found his coat, pulling it on. While his face felt flushed, there was still an undeniable chill haunting his core.

He left the tent, one foot in front of the other, and pushed through the people milling around, his eyes open for every skinjob and every Centurion and every head of long blonde hair.

 

VIII. Jean

Sleeping with Hillard once wasn't something she ever set out to do. They didn't even talk about it for a week after.

The second time, though: that was intentional. It felt like the world was falling apart around them all over again. Skinjobs were everywhere, a quartet of Centurions replaced the usual pair of Marines standing guard outside Colonial One, the apartment complex was closed to the public. More than once Galen dragged their feverish coughing former team captain back to them from Colonial One.

The third time she slept with Hillard in his own tent. His mattress on the ground was covered with blankets, and the two of them generated their own heat to combat the cool New Caprican air. His fingers laced with hers, and when she rolled on top of him she caught something like reverence in his eyes.

Even when Sam's condition improved she kept it all to herself, a secret she'd only unwrap when she was alone, like cheating on a diet. It was something to look forward to from one day to the next, but how could she tell Sam at a time like this?

"Haven't heard you cough once today," she pointed out over lunch rations.

"Can't believe you haven't thrown me a party yet." He sounded much better, but ever since Kara disappeared he didn't laugh for her the way he used to. "You up for a game later? I'm sick of recuperating."

"Absolutely." Few things sounded better than pyramid. "I'll tell Hillard and Ten-Point. If you're feeling brave we'll make it some three-on-one."

"Now we're talking."

Late in the afternoon the four of them started a game that lasted two hours and inflated by six people before it was over. Sam threw himself into it head-first, and she saw him grinning -- really grinning -- more than he had in a month.

 

IX. Sam

"How'd you score the Zephyr?"

They never got to enjoy Cloud 9, but these days the Zephyr was the closest thing the fleet had to a pleasure ship. His assignment to the Salpica didn't seem nearly as appealing.

"My nice ass?" Jean shrugged. "I don't know, but I'll take it. Ten-Point's there, too."

"Hillard and Rally are on the Thera Sita."

"Yeah, and you thought your quarters were cramped. You should see Hillard's."

He gave her an incredulous look. "My new quarters _are_ cramped. When the guy next to me snores he shakes every rack in the room, and he's not even that loud."

"You could come stay with me. No one would care. It's not much better, but the Zephyr's a nicer ship."

The offer was sweet, but he didn't actually want to move again. He didn't have much crap to his name, but leaving Galactica for the Salpica had already been one move too many. He shook his head. "They're good people. The XO's a C-Bucs fan. I can deal with it."

He caught her watching him closely, like she wasn't sure whether or not to believe him.

"Don't do that."

"What?" she asked, tone mild.

"I don't want to get into it right now."

Her lips pressed together. "But I do. I feel like part of it's my fault."

He exhaled heavily and turned toward her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "None of it's your fault."

"You _quit_ , sick of the killing and the judgment, and I sat by and watched Kara take your place even though I knew you'd hate it when you found out. I said I was okay with her joining us. Maybe it's not my fault, but I would be pissed off at me if I were you."

Still holding her shoulders, he looked up at the ceiling, gathering his thoughts. "You're not responsible for me. Or for Kara. You couldn't have stopped me from quitting, and you couldn't have stopped her from joining. Kara is--" He stopped to wet his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "Kara is pretty frakked up right now, and she doesn't want anyone in her way."

Jean's mouth slanted.

"If you keep looking at me like that I'll be _really_ pissed off at you."

 

X. Jean

Even the hottest shower she could manage didn't clean all the dirt and algae from her skin, but she'd stayed under the spray until it was lukewarm at best, until her fingertips wrinkled.

There was only one place she felt like going afterward, so once she was dry and dressed in cleaner clothes she hopped a shuttle to the Salpica. Sam hadn't gotten back from Galactica yet -- probably making sure Kara was okay -- but she knew her way to the empty hangar where they'd carved out space for a homemade pyramid court. She'd painted the lines on the floor herself, and even though it wasn't her ship it felt more like home than the Zephyr. Picking up a ball, she put herself through her paces: first she took shots farther and farther away from goals, and then she squared off against an imaginary opponent. 

Without a real opponent she always pictured herself taking on Verna Clarke, former center for the Panthers, but while she always thought her imagination was pretty good she could only think of Hillard's face, his blank eyes, the dark blood soaking his shirt.

Her fourth point of the game -- if she could call it that -- rattled into the cage right before she heard footsteps behind her.

"Nice shot."

She felt her mouth tremble, and she made the effort to stop it before she turned around. "You want to play, T?"

"Always." Dusty and disheveled, he was clearly fresh off a shuttle from Galactica, but he opened his hands for the ball, catching it easily with his left when she threw it over.

They went head-to-head in the central neutral zone, and even though she took possession first she had to do her best to shake him off long enough to take score any points. Within a few minutes he'd stolen the ball and was up by two, but she sprang at him, taking him down hard. His elbow thudded against the floor, slowing him down, and she dove at the ball again, lining up for another shot.

He got up, taking his time, and watched her take the point. She didn't turn around again until she realized he wasn't rushing to recapture the ball.

"Were you two ever gonna tell me?" Sam's voice had never sounded so careful. "I was happy for you."

She shut her eyes tight, not wanting to read the expression on his face, but she let herself step forward until she landed in his arms.


End file.
